Fire
by TolkienScribe
Summary: The House of Oropher experience different forms of fire. One-shot. Complete. Part of Green Leaves Universe. Please read and review.


**Fire**

 **Summary:** The House of Oropher experience different forms of fire.

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

 **Rating:** T for safety.

All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise but you do not need to read one to understand the other.

My stories are now available in the form of a list in chronological sequence on my bio.

Enjoy!

 **~S~**

 **Oropher**

The fire danced in its hearth, the vivid colours of red, orange and yellow casting light in the darkened room. The tendrils of fire curled and uncurled, licking up the walls of the fireplace. There was silence in the room, except for the occasional crackle as the fire devoured more wood. A chill had set into the forest. Winter was fierce this year and the city was quiet in its unrest. The new king and his children were a joy to behold, but all remembered the loss of their previous king, and with them the loss of their queen and her precious Girdle. They were no longer safe. He had spoken of leaving with his wife in the wee hours of the morning but they did not act upon it. This was their home. They knew no other.

"Thranduil has left for the barracks." He heard a soft, feminine voice call over his shoulder. He did not turn. Nemireth settled on the wide chair beside him, her legs covering his. Warmth radiated from his side as his wife curled beside him. "He said he will wait for you there."

Times were hard, and they needed camaraderie to establish between the regular soldiers and the nobles if they were to survive in these harsh times. He absently rubbed his wife's back, still staring into the fire. The smell of smoke wafted to him, mingling with his wife's flowery scent. He was armoured, as were they were, since they heard the sons of Fëanor's warning calls to give up the Silmaril in their possession. He had advised the king to give it up, that it was not worth the cost they asked if they took it by force but the young king refused.

"It is the last I have of my parents," he had answered. "And my father paid greatly for it."

Oropher advised him again but it was in vain. Finally, he had given up.

The air was tense with his misgivings, and Nemireth stayed blessedly quiet.

"This will not end well." He said quietly.

Nemireth said nothing, but hugged him around the chest, laying her head on his shoulder.

In the dead of that very night, the sons of Fëanor had come.

oOo

 **Thranduil**

It was heart breaking.

Slavery. The detested word made Thranduil's lips curl in disgust. Thraldom. That too had evil in it. Neither of them suited any Child, whether they were Elves, Men or Dwarves, or these new beings he heard to be called "Halflings".

It was what the forces of Evil, those of Morgoth had done. They imprisoned their own kind and made them work as lesser beings. And that was what was happening in front of him. Fields upon fields of crops stretched out before him, capable of feeding the kingdom it belonged to, and in these fields were slaves working on the plantations for their lords. Most of them were poor, sold into slavery in an attempt for some job that had wages but were tricked and sold from one hand to another. He could see all ages, from youth that barely even escape adulthood, to the elderly who should be given a proper place to rest to pass the rest of their days and their bodies buried with some dignity after they passed away. He saw women too in them, and all of the slaves wore these metal collars about their necks, their clothes dirty and tattered, and the stench of unwashed bodies heavy in the air. He could not bear to even look at them for longer than a few moments, since their eyes were so empty and vacant that it seemed to him as if they accused him for standing so silently. But Thorontur's presence was always by his elbow, and the advisor had given him strong advice of not speaking up against the Mannish practices. It would wreck their alliance, and he could not afford that, not when their forest was so weakened.

The whip cracked over the slaves' heads, making him flinch with them.

And then he saw it. One of the slaves raised his eyes and Thranduil saw the look of fury in them. There was a spark, a spark of fire burning in them. He raised an eyebrow, impressed. These slaves will revolt in time, Thranduil thought to himself. Their spirits burned still, and they will want the freedom soon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slave master's muscles of his back bunch as he flexed the arm carrying his whip.

This time when the slave master's hand rose, Thranduil, unable to bear it any longer, reached over and grasped it. The man gave a gasp of pain at the unrelenting fingers tightening around his wrist. He turned his pained and angry gaze at the Elf, and nearly recoiled at the sight of cold steel wedged deep in the grey eyes of the Elf.

" 'Ware," the Elf said softly in his ear. "Lest the whip returns and coils around your neck instead."

With that he let him go, the markings of each finger visible around his wrist in the noontime sun. Thranduil turned and walked away.

A few months passed when he heard from passing traders that there had been a revolt in the now breaking kingdom of Arnor. The slaves had rebelled against their masters and among the names of the many plantations was the name of the one he had visited.

"Never estimate a spark of hope in people." Thorontur commented once the traders sought the king's leave. Thranduil rumbled an agreement in reply.

oOo

 **Legolas**

Laughter rose high in the group.

Music burst forth from the musicians sitting in the corner of the clearing. Elves joined in a large circle with linked hands. Their audience clapped and laughed, watching eagerly as the Elves came together with their hands still joined together until they reached the centre of the circle. They spread out, breaking their linked hands. They turned around, clapped once and joined hands again, facing outwards. Legolas watched from afar, laughing with the audience. His friends caught sight of him and broke off from the clearing. They dragged him into the circle, some of them helping him with his ornate boots. Soon, he was barefoot like the rest of them. The music picked speed and the dance became faster. They broke apart into partners of two and danced around the clearing until they joined together in a larger circle, this time facing the audience. The music stopped. They held up their arms, still joined together and then bowed deeply. Legolas broke free.

Legolas laughed and waved away offers for another dance, pleading exhaustion. He found his boots among the numerous shoes discarded in a pile to the side. He looked up and saw Aragorn standing amongst the crowd, Arwen in his arms. They were smiling in joy, content in each other's arms.

Legolas smiled and bowed his head to the King and Queen of Gondor.

Hope burned brightly in the Race of Men.

oOo

 **Nimdir**

He resembled his mother more in looks and figure. Built lithe as a born sailor, Nimdir easily met the height of his father, but with flowing silver hair instead of gold. Even Oropher's hair, which had some silver hue, did not contain the richness of silver as Nimdir's hair possessed. The Elf was young, and handsomely so, often catching the eyes of many parents who looked for suitors as well as Ellyth.

And just like his sires before him, Nimdir was just as oblivious.

Until now.

"Ellyth are complicated." Nimdir complained to his father. Legolas only laughed in reply. The pair of them climbed down the steps, their cloaks trailing behind them.

"You cannot live without them." Legolas answered, smiling as he spotted his wife beyond the hall, chattering away with one of her kin.

Nimdir muttered something underneath his breath. Legolas burst out laughing, half at what Nimdir had said and half at how the young Ellyth eyed his son.

"Now, don't be like that. Who knows? You might find someone."

"I doubt it."

They spotted Thranduil and Oropher coming down the steps. Seeing them, Nimdir went straight to Oropher and Thranduil wandered over to Legolas.

"What happened?"

"Nimdir finally took notice of the Ellyth around him, in a different way," Legolas answered. The pair of them glanced towards the grumbling young Elf and grinned at one another. Nimdir was standing beside his great-grandfather, obviously complaining judging from the way his hands moved and how his face was curled in displeasure. Oropher, on the other hand, listened calmly without saying a word. Of all three of them, Nimdir felt most comfortable with his great grandsire. Oropher was many things; he had turned into a lord as well as second father figure as well as a confidant of sorts.

The festival down by the beach was lively. The fires burned light blue and white instead of red and gold in silver braziers. The gems glittered in the sand, washing lightly as the waves swept over them. The boats were out, and some of the Elves were knee deep in the water.

"Take a look around," Legolas told Nimdir. "See if you like something-"

"Someone," Thranduil corrected, chuckling.

"Children," Oropher chided, standing behind them. "Stop squabbling. Come. There is a dance due right now. Let us go and see it."

The dance was taken on a square tiled floor, with raised upright tiles on all four sides. A horn sounded and music began on drums. Water filled the floor and the lights went up as the dancers took the floor.

The Elves danced completely in rhythm of one another, being where the other wasn't. Oropher nudged his son and grandson and nodded towards Nimdir. Their youngest watched the dance intently. They followed his gaze until they found a young Elleth with graceful limbs and long, flowing silver hands dancing in the middle. Thranduil stifled his laugh and Oropher looked away in a poor attempt to hide his smile.

Nimdir jerked in surprise when Legolas nudged him.

"Eyes inside before they fall out of your sockets," Legolas told his son, who flushed in reply. He slightly shuffled away, saying nothing.

"I think he is in love." Legolas said. Thranduil laughed in reply, but Nimdir paid no attention to either of them.

"Now, now," Oropher said, half-amused, "Do not start planning his wedding just yet." Thranduil only snorted.

"Never estimate the spark of interest stoked into flames of love." Thranduil retorted.

 **~S~**

 **Author's Note:**

This is what happens when your muse drops dead in the middle of writing a new chapter.

It was just a little exercise, playing with different aspects of 'fire'.


End file.
